


The Wolf and the Saber

by Catlorde



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Baby Yoda - Freeform, Coruscant (Star Wars), Eventual Smut, F/M, Female Mandalorian, Flashbacks, Force-Sensitive Original Character(s), Jedi, Jedi Masters - Freeform, Jedi Temple, Mandalorian Female OC, Mandalorian Jedi, Mandalorian OC, Mando'a, Original Character(s), Original Content - Freeform, Original Mandalorian, Padawan, Revenge of the Sith, Romance, Sigils, Star Wars - Freeform, The Force, Yoda - Freeform, light sabers, slowmance(kinda)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:00:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22061461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catlorde/pseuds/Catlorde
Summary: Several years before his life was changed by a Force-sensitive bounty and many years after the devastating eradication of the Jedi, Din Djarin crosses paths with a fellow Mandalorian. The Marsh Wolf is strange and much more dangerous than the average Mandalorian warrior. Is there a connection between the Wolf and the green baby?
Relationships: Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Original Character(s), Din Djarin/Original Female Character, Din Djarin/Original Female Character(s), Dyn Jarren/Original Female Character(s), Mace Windu & Original Character(s), Mandalorian/Original Female Character(s), Mando/Original Female Character, Mando/Original Female Character(s), Obi-Wan & Original Character(s), The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Original Character, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Original Female Character, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 60





	The Wolf and the Saber

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! My first non-Doctor who fic! Also the first story I'm posting solely on ao3 and not on ff.net!
> 
> I won't be doing a whole lot with the actual Mandalorian episodes because I like to write my own adventures. I also like to mess with time jumps and flash-backs, which I know can be kind of confusing to the reader. I'll be labeling the time and place that each section takes place, but let me know if it's still confusing.
> 
> Flashbacks are italicized. 
> 
> This story will deal with some mature themes, including eventual smut. I'm kind of a spastic writer so I update at weird intervals.

**_._ **

**_~0~0~0~_ **

**_Coruscant - 19 BBY_ **

_ Screams and shouts shattered the usual contemplative quiet of the temple, overshadowed by the firing of blasters and the thrum of laser swords. The Jedi Temple was massive, but a thousand invading Clone Troopers marching in unison made the entire building tremble. Despite existing for a thousand years as a stronghold for some of the greatest warriors of the galaxy, its current inhabitants could swear it would come toppling down around them as if it were made of sand.  _

_ High above the death and chaos, a group of twelve or so children huddled together behind the circle of neat, cushy armchairs, comforting one another while listening to the battle raging in the levels below.  _

_ One is different than the others. With her short ponytail and tiny braid hanging behind her ear, she bears the rank of a Padawan Learner. She hasn’t been one long, though. The awkward weight of the lightsaber clipped to her belt serves as a bitter reminder that she isn’t too far removed from the Younglings she now protects. The assignment had been given to her by one of the older Masters, who’d hailed her over from her previous hiding spot behind one of the columns in the main hall. She hadn’t recognized the Master, as there were far too many of them for a young child to keep track of, but nodded earnestly when he’d shepherded a group of Younglings towards her with the instruction to take them to the upper levels for shelter.  _

_ The few assignments entrusted to the youngest of Padawans all require an in-depth knowledge of the Temple. Fetching, carrying, delivering messages, and guiding visitors around the sacred halls had given her a pretty solid understanding of the upper levels; an area that the Younglings weren’t allowed to go unaccompanied. The Younglings had stared around in awe when the Padawan led them to the Council Chamber, where instinct told her would be the safest place to hide. _

_ The first few minutes were spent by exploring the room. The Younglings had only seen the Council Chamber once - during a closely guided tour of the Temple. But as the sounds of fighting far below continued, all fascination of sitting in the seats of the Great Masters faded away.  _

_ The Padawan could sense the Masters dying. One by one. Each life that was snuffed out sent tremors through the Force, slicing through her heart as keenly as a saber. The Younglings could feel it too, even if they didn’t quite understand. Sensing the danger, they obeyed the Padawan’s instruction to hide behind the chairs without question.  _

_ The Padawan herself sought out Mace Windu’s chair. A part of her, the childish part that she fought hard to keep hidden, believed that he would come for her; sense her fear through the Force as he had before and arrive at the last moment to defend them from the invaders.  _

_ But the more adult, Padawan side of her knew that it was impossible. Master Windu was dead. No one could protect them. They were alone.  _

_ The young children surrounding her flinched when the chamber door, which she had locked behind them, slid open.  _

_ The Padawan, plucking up her courage, poked her head out from her place behind Master Windu’s seat. At the sight of a familiar face, she almost relaxed. The information gathered by her eyes nearly fooled her like a trick of the light; but her inner feelings screamed a different story, one that caused her blood to run cold. _

_ She knows him. The handsome, snarky Padawan that liked to tell funny stories about Master Kenobi and their escapades. But the moment the man that had once been Anakin Skywalker lurked through the door, she had known that he wasn’t the person she remembered. _

_ She sensed what he had come to do.  _

_ Oblivious to the danger the newcomer presented, a small Youngling slipped out of his hiding place behind the chair to stand before the Sith. And why shouldn’t he? Master Skywalker was a hero, a legend that the Younglings aspired to be. The Youngling was only six, and the rest were his age or younger; too young and too inexperienced in their inner feelings to have sensed the danger - the  _ darkness _ \- clinging to the ex-Jedi like smoke. She was eleven, young for a Padawan, but had started her official training all the same. Master Windu had told her to trust her feelings, and now they screamed at her to turn and run. _

_ But she didn’t. When the newly-crowned Darth Vader ignited his saber, sending the Youngling flinching back in shock, the Padawan ignited her own. Vader’s unnaturally yellow eyes flickered with something akin to amusement, but the Padawan didn’t back down. _

_ She didn’t stand a chance, and she knew it. Vader knew it. The Younglings knew it. But it was her job to protect the Younglings, and she’d be damned not to try. _

_ Such was the way of the Jedi. _

**_~0~0~0~_ **

**_._ **

**_._ **

**_~0~0~0~_ **

**_Ne-yi - The Third Moon of Nyen - 5 ABY_ **

The  _ Razor Crest _ lowered itself carefully onto the sodden moon, engines sending up waves of sludge as the vessel picked its way across the surface like a disgruntled cat searching for the driest place to settle down for a nap. The landing gear sank down into the most solid patch available with an unsavory squelch. 

The hatch at the back of the ship opened with a series of whirs and metallic groans, revealing the pilot of the vessel. He paused for a moment at the top of the ramp. The silver helmet shone in the colorless sunlight as his head turned from one side to the other, surveying his surroundings with distaste. He cut an unusual figure, somewhere between human and machine. Not a single sliver of skin was visible, covered as it was in mismatched faded red, tan, and silver armor over several layers of thick clothing. Dents and scrapes littered the hodge-podge armor, each telling the story of a battle that the wearer had survived. His boots were covered with dust, the remnants of a much warmer, much drier planet. 

Despite his overall bedraggled appearance, he was intimidating. The distinct T-shaped visor, which gave the impression of constantly glaring at the galaxy around him, had only one meaning.

He was Mandalorian.

The Mandalorian readjusted the rifle strapped to his back and unclipped one of the two tracking fobs hanging from his belt. The red light blinked slowly as the small black object beeped in confirmation. The bounty hunter returned the fob back to its place beside the other, which was blinking at a slightly slower rate, and seemed to nod to himself before striding down the ramp and onto the moon’s surface. 

Mando suppressed a sigh as his boots immediately sank into the grassy muck. The landscape was mostly flat - save for a few rocky ridges - and completely covered in rolling plains of marsh. Long, spiky grass tugged at the bounty hunter’s legs as he plowed on, aiming for the buildings situated in the distance. The town was called Kroll; one of the few major settlements on Ne-yi, the Third Moon of Nyen. 

Kroll was just as depressing as the rest of the planet. Everything was splattered with mud. In the well-trodden streets, puddles leaked and trickled from one to the next as pools exchanged contents. The Mandalorian had been in many different towns and cities on many different worlds, but this one claimed the title of the most lifeless. Not that it was empty. In fact, a great number of people littered the streets, milling between drab shops and packing away goods in packs or on levitating sleds. The sleds were pulled by massive brown deer-creatures with two eyes on each side of their hoary heads and stilt-like legs that were nearly as long as he was tall. Despite the activity, the people’s faces were drained and grey. The wood cabin buildings were drab, splattered up to the windows with moss and drying mud.

By the Mandalorian’s standards, the place was a real backwater skughole. Nyen and its moons mostly served as trading posts, far from the authority of the newly formed New Republic. Like Tatooine or Nevarro, it was inhospitable enough to be a haven for petty criminals and people who didn’t want to be found. Perfect for the two people he was currently hunting.

The tracking fob led him to a large grubby cantina. He prowled through the open doors, not bothering to wipe the mud from his boots. Not that it would’ve made any difference; the rough wood floors couldn’t get much dirtier. 

One by one, the patrons fell into a collective hush, one that Mando was all too familiar with. Sometimes he found pride in the way the band would fizzle out as the musicians paused to study him with wary eyes; how dangerous looking criminals would subtly appraise him from their places in the shadows, wondering if he was as much of a threat as the stories suggested. Other times, all the attention was inconvenient, like it was now. It was clear that he was a bounty hunter, and all those with a price on their head had the tendency to scatter. 

Mando settled into a booth along the wall, keeping both the doors and the bar in his direct line of view. The rag-tag band picked up where they left off and began playing an obscure tune on rusty instruments. One by one, the conversations resumed until the cantina returned to a dreary buzz.

The bounty hunter watched as a young man slipped out of the cantina, his quick, anxious movements betraying the fear that the Mandalorian was targeting him. Mando briefly considered taking him anyway - just to see if he was worth anything - but dismissed the idea. The man clearly hadn’t been on the run before; a tidbit made obvious by the amateur impulse to flee as quickly as possible. An inexperienced individual on the run rarely brought any bounty worth a damn. Leave it to a less coveted hunter to bring him in. 

The Mandalorian had more important people to find. One of which, if the steady blinking of one of the fobs was anything to go by, who was in the cantina.

A waitress in a grubby grey dress that had once been blue shuffled over, brushing fly-away strands of hair away from her lined face. 

“Can I get you anything?” 

“No. Thanks,” Mando said, blunt yet polite. 

“Well, you need to buy something if -” 

Mando placed a few credits on the table. It wasn’t much, but the waitress paused and slipped the money into the pocket of her apron. Her demeanor changed when Mando produced more credits, double the previous amount. The waitress didn’t immediately reach for those, having worked in the shady environment long enough to understand the terms. She leaned against the table and surveyed the bounty hunter with a knowing eye.

“Who?”

“Two brothers. Ian and Becko Brac.” Mando added an extra five credits to those on the table for good measure. “Weapons smugglers.”

“Don’t know the names. But there are ex-smugglers that come and go. Brothers. Rich.” She didn’t make any move to indicate the back of the cantina, but Mando saw the way her eyes flickered in that direction. “You should get your fob checked. One of ‘em is here.”

“The other isn’t,” Mando grunted. 

“They usually only come one at a time,” the waitress pointed out. “They come to restock, then head back out into the Marsh Flats.” 

“Do you know where to?” 

The waitress shrugged. “Lio, maybe. That’s all that’s out there.”

Mando was about inquire further, but hesitated when another hush fell over the room. The T of his visor turned from the waitress to the door. The Mandalorian stiffened at the sight of the person that stood there, framed by the pale light that trickled in behind them.

Another Mandalorian.

Unlike him, with the sand colored padding under his armor, they clearly had lived on Ne-yi for some time. The Other Mandalorian’s armor had been painted a dark green-brown hue; intentionally done to blend in with the marsh. A dark cowl with ragged edges draped over one shoulder, leaving the other pauldron uncovered. The only piece of armor that had been left shining silver gleamed under the dim cantina lights; the signet of a snarling wolf. 

Mando studied the newcomer with acute interest. Mandalorians were rare these days, most of them having been killed by the Empire during the Purge. The rest were scattered, but could be found in small clusters - if one knew where to look. There were about thirty or so Mandalorians in the covert on Nevarro, and while he certainly didn’t know them all, he was sure that he hadn’t seen this one before. 

Everything about them - from the way they paused at the doorway to scan the cantina to the deep scours that littered the beskar - marked them as a seasoned warrior. An unusual gash raced across the helmet, starting above where their left eye would be and running over the visor to end at the hollow of metal covering their left cheek. Mando assumed that the visor glass had been replaced since the scar was inflicted, as any weapon that could cause that much damage to beskar steel surely would’ve done considerable damage to the visor. 

The quiet anticipation the cantina held was double what it would have been if only one of them had walked in. Seeing one Mandalorian was extremely rare, but two in the same place was unheard of. The audience waited, curious to see how the pair would interact. 

The Other Mandalorian had spotted him as soon as they walked in. They surveyed Mando with what appeared to be passive interest. He held the gaze of the other’s T-Visor unflinchingly, fully aware that they were sizing him up. This was their territory. Their moon. Mando was all but trespassing. If he looked away, he was a coward. Any wrong move, he was a threat. The Other Mandalorian would tolerate neither.

The cantina’s patrons were bloodthirsty, eager for something to break the monotony of the swampy moon. Excitement crackled through the air as they looked on with bated breath, making silent bets on which Mando would come out on top if a fight broke out.

The Other Mandalorian inclined their head slightly, acknowledging his presence with a shallow nod.

Mando returned the gesture, privately relieved. The Other Mandalorian turned away, but Mando continued to watch as they studied the crowd, looking for someone. 

Mando wondered if they were a hunter as well. He hadn’t spotted a tracking fob, but that didn’t mean anything. His question was answered a moment later, when the Other Mandalorian zeroed in on an older man sitting in a booth on the other side of the cantina. The man was scruffy with a short white beard and wispy hair. He didn’t seem surprised when the Other Mandalorian settled into the seat across from him. A few quiet words were exchanged, and the old man placed a bag that he’d been keeping stowed away by his feet onto the table top. Clearly some kind of business deal.

“Do you know each other?” The waitress inquired, glancing between the two Mandalorians.

“No,” Mando responded briskly. “What do you know?”

“The Marsh Wolf,” the waitress provided, nodding wisely. “We think they camp out in the marsh, somewhere.”

“Just the one? Are there others?”

She shook her head. “No. Always the same Mando. You’re the only other one I’ve ever seen.”

Mando kept his eyes on the Marsh Wolf, watching as they examined the contents of the bag. The Marsh Wolf removed an object from the bag. It was about the size of a hand, small and bulbous. The object was held up close to the Marsh Wolf’s visor as they examined it with a thoughtful tilt to their head.

“How long have they been here?”

The waitress shrugged. “About two years. Since just before the Empire fell.” 

“That long? What’s their business?”

“Don’t know. Comes into town for supplies. Ammunition and stuff. Never stays for more than a few hours, then heads back out into the Marsh Flats. That’s where the ‘Marsh’ part of ‘Marsh Wolf’ comes in.”

“Yeah, I figured that,” Mando scoffed, unable to keep the exasperation out of his voice. He opened his mouth to ask another question, but was distracted by faint, rapid beeping coming from around his hip. The Mandalorian silently cursed himself. While he had been preoccupied, he’d nearly forgotten why he was in the cantina in the first place. 

Ian Brac had casually finished his drink and paid his tab. Unlike the younger man who had panicked at the first sign of a hunter, the weapons’ smuggler knew to bide his time. 

Knowing full well that the hunter had come for him - as he was certain that he and his brother were the only people on the moon with high enough prices on their heads to attract a Mandalorian - he had waited for a distraction. He couldn’t believe his luck when the Marsh Wolf came in, as the surprise presence of another Mandalorian was probably the only thing on the moon that could distract the hunter enough to temporarily lose sight of his quarry. 

Unfortunately for Ian, the Mandalorian hunter stood before the smuggler could make it halfway across the room. He stiffened as the cantina patrons lapsed into silence for the third time in the last half hour. 

Mando could practically see the cogs turning behind the man’s dark blue eyes. The Mandalorian was between him and the most obvious exit, hand straying toward the blaster that poked out from underneath his cloak. 

“Cuff yourself,” Mando ordered, tone gravelly with warning. He held a pair of cuffs in one hand while the other rested on his blaster. 

Ian’s eyes flickered from Mando, to the cuffs, to the blaster, and then, curiously, to the space over Mando’s right shoulder. A sly grin crept across his pale face, exposing a set of perfectly white teeth. 

“Actually, I think you should probably be the one to put the cuffs on.” 

Mando’s blaster was drawn before the quip made it all the way out of the smuggler’s mouth, aimed at the man that already had his own blaster aimed at the bounty hunter. With Mando’s attention on the newcomer, Ian drew his weapon and pointed it at the bounty hunter’s beskar-less throat. 

Ian had friends, it seemed. Several hired friends. Four more stood from where they had been hiding in the back, not daring to make a move while they had been in Mando’s direct line of fire. 

The Mandalorian’s rifle swung off of his shoulders and into his hand faster than Ian could order him not to. 

“Come on now, Mando,” Ian drawled. “Be sensible. Six to one. Not the best odds.”

Mando stood stiffly, thinking. He could probably beat them hand to hand, but with all the blasters pointed in his direction, one of them was bound to get lucky. 

The Mandalorian’s helmet turned ever so slightly to where the Marsh Wolf sat. The old man had already ducked under the table in anticipation of a shootout, but the Marsh Wolf hadn’t moved a muscle. They sat, coolly lounging sideways in the booth, watching the impending conflict with mild interest. 

For obvious reasons, Mandalorians were unable to read the facial expressions of others that followed the Creed. In order to make up for the gap in silent communication, all Mandalorians excelled at reading body language. A tilt of the head or a change in the tension of shoulders spoke volumes. This actually was beneficial, as an outsider might not recognize intent through body language as they would in an expression. 

The Marsh Wolf dipped their head slightly to the side and changed the position of their feet, poised to rise quickly. They were content to sit and watch, but would help if Mando needed it.

Emboldened by the subtle show of solidarity, Mando lowered his weapons slowly, pointing the muzzle of the ruffle towards the floor and the blaster loosely towards the ceiling. 

“Good boy,” Ian crooned. He jerked his blaster at Mando’s rifle. “Lay that on the ground. Slowly.”

Mando complied. As soon as the rifle was out of the Mandalorian’s hands, Ian came forward to relieve him of his blaster. Big mistake.

Mando’s fist - the one that had been holding the rifle - came up and rammed into Ian’s gut. The smuggler groaned in pain as all hell broke loose. 

The man with the blaster that had sneaked up behind Mando fired, the shot ricocheting harmlessly off of his back plate. The others rushed forward, not daring to shoot while Ian was still between them and the Mandalorian. 

While Ian was on the ground, Mando whipped the butt of his blaster against the skull of the man that had shot at him. He crumpled to the ground, stunned. Another assailant grabbed Mando’s arm and drove a fist into his side. 

The Mandalorian was faster and a much more experienced combatant than his attackers, but it was difficult to maneuver in such a tight space. Glasses shattered as Mando slammed one of them into a table, sending both table and contents to the floor. 

Another attacker grabbed him and dragged him backwards so that they both went sprawling to the ground. Mando’s vibroblade slashed out, biting savagely into the man’s forearm. The man released him with a cry of pain and Mando sprang back to his feet to knock Ian’s blaster, which had been roughly shoved into the juncture between his neck and shoulder, towards the ground. The bolt fired anyway, grazing Mando’s arm just below the pauldron. 

Mando was slammed into the bar, head ramming painfully into the wood regardless of his helmet. He slid to the ground, slightly dazed as the remaining three attackers scrambled to gather their weapons and converge on the bounty hunter.

Mando struggled to get back to his feet, but was halted by a blaster being shoved in his face, right up against the T-shaped visor. Obviously, the glass wouldn’t hold up like beskar. At bolt at that range would be fatal.

Before the man could decide whether or not to pull the trigger, a bar stool came hurtling across the room. The thick wooden slat that served as the seat smashed against the man’s temple, causing him to crumple to the ground like a puppet with severed strings.

The Marsh Wolf had seen enough. 

A part of Mando had hoped that he would be overwhelmed, if only to see the Marsh Wolf fight. They were fast - unbelievably fast. Within seconds, Ian was curled up on the ground, his arm badly broken to the point that it was twisted around backwards and flopped pathetically against his side. The other man was most likely dead, blood leaking from his ears after the back of his head had been slammed against the counter.

The Marsh Wolf extended a hand to Mando. He grasped at the proffered glove and allowed himself to be helped to his feet. The pair of Mandalorians exchanged a nod before the Marsh Wolf returned to where the aging man was crawling out from under the table, looking none the worse for wear.

Mando didn’t bother with the cuffs, knowing that Ian no longer needed them. The smuggler must have had all of the fight knocked out of him, because he didn’t offer the slightest bit of resistance as Mando brought him to his ship and stowed him away in carbonite. But the complacency was a double edged sword, as his general silence prevented him from offering any information as to his brother’s whereabouts.

“You won’t get him,” was the only thing Ian said; the last stroke of defiance as he glared at the Mandalorian out of the harness. “The Marsh Flats are a death trap. You won’t make it.”

A snarky comeback flickered in Mando’s mind, but he didn’t bother voicing it. Instead, he pressed a button and watched as Ian Brac vanished into a cloud of smoke. When it cleared, his face was embalmed in a case of metal, his previous taunting smirk frozen on his lips.

**_~0~0~0~_ **

**_._ **

**_._ **

**_~0~0~0~_ **

When Mando returned to the cantina, the Marsh Wolf had already gone. He prowled the streets, hoping to catch them before they vanished back into the Marsh Flats. 

It wasn’t long before he caught sight of the warrior. They were just on the edge of the town, half hidden in the shadow cast by one of the log buildings. The Marsh Wolf didn’t immediately notice him, or at least didn’t care enough to show if they had. Their muddy green helmet stayed fixed on the task of preparing two of the long-legged mounts for the journey back out into the wilderness. One of the beasts was on the ground, its legs folded away neatly beneath it while the Marsh Wolf tucked supplies into its saddle bags. The other still stood beside them, gazing around its surroundings with two sets of watchful, dewy eyes. The beast stamped its fleshy hooves impatiently, scattering some of the half dried mud caked to its flanks as it expressed displeasure about the approaching Mandalorian. 

Mando made sure to stay within what he guessed to be the Marsh Wolf’s periphery, not wanting to give the impression that he had hostile intentions. 

The Marsh Wolf turned their head slightly in his direction, acknowledging him without redirecting their attention away from their task. 

“ _ Meg aliit cuyir gar teh _ ?” Mando inquired. “I don’t recognize your signet.” 

“ _ Naasad _ ,” the Marsh Wolf said steadily, voice low and distinctly female. Her tone was guarded, but not unfriendly. “The  _ aliik _ is my own.” 

She tightened a strap and turned to face him fully, allowing the two Mandalorians to properly size each other up for the first time. She was only an inch or two shorter than him. Despite being concealed by armor and thick fabric, it was evident that she was lean and solidly built. 

Mando found his eyes drawn once more to the thick twisted scar that ran across her helmet, wondering what could’ve caused that sort of damage to beskar. It looked like someone had taken a blowtorch to hit, caused it to partially melt, and then later tried to beat the steel back into shape. Up close, Mando began to notice similar damage to her chest-pate. Though less severe than the damage to her helmet, there were a few divots criss-crossing the muted green-brown steel. The edges of each gash were ever so slightly warped - like she’d been struck by something hot. What kind of weapon, outside of the forge, could melt beskar? 

The Marsh Wolf tilted her head in consideration and Mando found himself wondering what she thought of him.The hairs on the back of his neck tingled and he had to fight the urge to shiver. Although they couldn’t see each others’ faces, he felt as if she were staring straight through his armour. Straight through him, even, like she was examining his soul.

He fleetingly wished that his hodge-podge armor was a single set. The fact that his pauldrons didn’t match didn’t lend toward a very cohesive or intimidating image.

The Marsh Wolf relaxed slightly and the invasive sensation passed. Mando released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. The other Mandalorian leaned back against her mount with her arms crossed in front of her. 

“I wanted to thank you,” Mando said as soon as he regained the ability to speak. “I wouldn't have been successful without your help.”

“You did the hard part. I just cleaned up.” The green helmet tilted to the side. “How’s the arm?”

The Mandalorian glanced at the injury in question. It wasn’t too bad. The bleeding had already stopped. Blood had soaked into the tattered fabric and was beginning to stiffen as it dried. 

“Fine,” he said disinterestedly. “It’ll heal.”

The Marsh Wolf thought for a moment, then turned to reach into one of the pockets of the saddle bag. She held out a Bacta patch for him to take. 

Mando shook his head, saying that it wasn't necessary, but she insisted. 

“Infections in the Marsh Flats can be fatal,” she warned. “Some of the bacteria eats flesh. Better to have it healed before you leave town.”

He caved, accepting the patch and pulling aside the torn fabric on his arm enough to apply it. “What makes you think I’m headed into the marsh?”

“You’re a hunter,” the Marsh Wolf grunted, straight to the point. She jerked her head to the remaining fob clipped to his belt. “The other is close, but not in town. That’s why you’re here, talking to me. You need someone to guide you through the Flats.”

“It’s not the only reason. But yes,” Mando admitted. “I’ve heard that the Marsh Flats are dangerous if you don’t know the terrain.”

“They are.”

“I can pay.”

The green helmet tilted slightly in consideration. One of the more recent scratches on her helmet had picked away the top paint layer, revealing that her armor had once been solid white. Perhaps she’d lived on an ice planet before coming to Ne-yi.

“Keep your credits,” she said at last. “I’m headed that way anyway. To Lio.”

The Mandalorian almost protested, not entirely comfortable with accepting her services for free; especially after she’d already helped him twice. But he could tell that there was no point in arguing. He tipped his head in gratitude. “Thank you.”

She jerked her head at her two mounts, indicating that he could ride one. “We leave in half an hour. Gather your supplies. We’ll have to camp along the Arc Ridge. It’s too dangerous to travel at night.”

The Marsh Wolf turned back to the creature kneeling beside her and resumed her task of securing supplies, signaling that the matter was settled. Mando spotted a few of the objects she’d been bartering for in the cantina being tucked away beside some circular metal pieces that he knew to be high-yield explosives.

The Mandalorian’s helmet adopted a curious tilt, but he didn’t inquire to their purpose. It wasn’t his business. 

“Half an hour,” he confirmed. With a swish of his weather-worn cape, Mando turned and vanished into the streets.

**_~0~0~0~_ **

**_._ **


End file.
